


Force Of Nature

by Denstort



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denstort/pseuds/Denstort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dominic loves Matthew......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force Of Nature

He’s a force of nature, is my Matthew; it’s like being in the path of a storm, a storm that makes him unrecognisable as the Matthew that I love.

I’d watched as this force of nature blazed a destructive trail across stage after stage, anger and frustration exploding out of that tiny frame.

I’d watched as guitars met fates they were never designed for; victims of that storm, their screeching an unheard plea for mercy. Sometimes my drum-kit strayed into the path of it as did the amps.

You would think that this force of nature would calm, as all storms do…and so he does as he gets older and perhaps more wiser.

Oh, that force is still there, as like every storm it has its season. And this night that storm broke, with a ferocity I hadn’t seen for many years.

I never found out why he was in the mood that he was that night, and he never spoke to me about it. But you could feel it, we all could……the storm rumbling in the distance.

It’s poetic and quite apt that as the first chords of Knights are struck, storm clouds are gathering in the far distance.

The heat was stifling and the crowd was as sweaty as we were…then it happened, three songs in, the power cut off; the first time in years that this had happened.

I saw it then, those storm clouds gathering. I saw the tremor run through him as the seconds turned into minutes, and the crowd became impatient.

I saw him glare at the crew off-stage, his eyes like lasers.

Ten long minutes later we began to play again, but I could see he wasn’t happy. His movements were less fluid and more aggressive.

Just as things seemed to be going well the night sky was illuminated by a distant lightning flash, but we continued playing…hell, we’d played in downpours and sandstorms.

Then it happened, his guitar malfunctioned, going badly out of tune. It was then that the storm that had begun to show its presence had a rival.

As he hit the first note of the outro this force of nature broke its dam.

I glanced over at Chris, who had just a flicker of concern on his face, but kept playing, as did I.

This force of nature turned and advanced on my drum-kit, and I could see the anger and frustration writ large on his features; it was like looking at the past, a destructive past.

His lips were curled in a silent snarl, and like an Exocet missile he advance on that amp, the one that had been a willing sacrifice to his rages.

I flinched as the malfunctioning instrument collided with the amp…once…twice, its electronic squeal drowning out the roar of the crowd.

But he hadn’t finished as his level of destruction increased, his whole body focused on murdering the guitar.

I saw out of the corner of my eye that Chris had moved, instinct telling him that this was beyond crowd-pleasing.

The guitar came to pieces as it was used to assault the amp, its life ebbing away as pieces were scattered across the stage. When it was beyond more destruction it was thrown in my direction, and I duck with the same instinct that had made Chris move.

But he wasn't finished, as his attention was now fixated on the amp…over it goes, another dent, more scratches. It was dragged by its wires and finally pushed off the stage as the last bar of the riff echoed across the arena.

Then he was gone, leaving myself and Chris to say the goodbyes, as the crowd still roared their approval of the storm that had just raged.

I cannot find him backstage, so I go looking for him.

The other storm had now broken and the rain was like sheets of glass. I blinked rain from my eyes and pulled my jacket closer…searching for him.

There he was, standing in it, already soaked to the skin.

I approach but say nothing, I just take a hand that is still trembling with the energy of the storm that had raged in him. I lead him to the warmth of the tour bus, and the warmth of my bunk.

Now I become the calm that soothes any storm, and this force of nature becomes again the Matthew that I love.


End file.
